


A Day in the Life

by aquietpersonwithaloudmind



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Azriel's a cop, Blanket Forts, Canon Compliant, Children, Elain and Nesta being sisters, F/F, F/M, Feyrhys Babies, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Mario Kart, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Painting, Post-ACOMAF, art class, canon compliant I guess, feyrhys children, unconventional New Year's kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9166816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietpersonwithaloudmind/pseuds/aquietpersonwithaloudmind
Summary: A place for me to put all mini fics, drabbles, etc. Each chapter will be less than 1000 words.





	1. Mesta college au

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this.](http://cassiann.co.vu/post/154593552983/person-a-slams-open-dorm-room-and-throws)
> 
> Come talk to me on my [tumblr!](cass-ian.tumblr.com)

Mor was studying on the dorm room bed, trying to memorize the different parts of the brain and their purposes when the door slammed open and then shut again, and her roommate stomped in.

“Bad day?” Mor said absentmindedly. She cared, of course, if she had, but this final was at eight in the morning tomorrow, and she had to know the material.  _ The corpus callosum... _

Nesta’s backpack slammed to the floor, and Mor wondered at the sound just how many textbooks she had been carrying.  _...is responsible for connecting the two halves of the brain. _

“ _ Mor, _ ” Nesta said, soft and low. “ _ I didn’t get to kiss or hold you all day. _ ”

Mor glanced up at the rare emotion in Nesta’s words. “You kissed me this morning before you left.”

“That was a peck,” Nesta said, and Mor didn’t disagree. Mor had been barely awake when Nesta had crawled out of their bed at seven to get dressed and find breakfast before making it to her eight o'clock final. Now, ten hours later, she had finally gotten out of her third of the day. “That was a peck,” Nesta said again, and took long strides towards the bed before climbing up next to her girlfriend. “I didn’t get to do this.”

And shoving Mor’s papers aside, Nesta bent down and kissed her.

God, Mor loved this. Loved the freshly-showered scent of her, loved the feeling of her fine hair sliding through her fingers like water. Loved the feeling of Nesta straddling her, the way they fit together, hearts beating as one, warm and soft and _right._ Most of all, Mor loved Nesta, how she burned, deep and slow and controlled until they touched, and then a torch became a wildfire, and both of them melted. 

Those feelings had been enough for them to register as roommates six months into their relationship at the end of freshman year. Now, at the end of their first semester of sophomore year, there was nothing better than coming back from a long day spent at the library to collapse together in their shared bed, made from the two twins the college had provided them. 

Nesta pulled back, just far enough for them to watch each other, hands still fisted in the other’s hair. 

“How were your finals?” Mor murmured, not wanting to break the delicious peace of this moment. 

Nesta sighed. “Fine. I feel good for algebra and calc, but that stupid English course I had to take…”

Mor frowned. “I thought you just had to read already written papers.”

“Yeah, we did, but I still feel like I made a few grammatical mistakes.”

“You do know you could have asked me for help, right? I know that they saw psych is a science, but it’s a pretty word-heavy one.”

“You were busy,” Nesta offered lamely.

Mor looked at her. “That’s not a good enough reason and you know it. I’ll always have time for you.”

They were silent for a moment, watching each other, seeing the appreciation and respect and love for each other reflected in the other’s eyes. 

“Do you want dinner?” Mor finally asked quietly. “It’s after seven.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to it. “Is all you think about food?”

“Funnily enough, I was actually asking for you,” Mor said. “I’m worried that between all your finals, you didn’t get the chance to eat today.”

Nesta dropped her head to rest in the crook of Mor’s neck, mumbling something against her skin. 

“What was that?” Mor asked. 

“I had a yogurt and an apple and peanut butter?” 

“We’re getting some actual food into you,” Mor said, pulling away. Yogurt and an apple were not enough to keep  _ anyone  _ going, as far as Mor was concerned. She was a firm believer in the power of burgers and pasta to make anyone’s day better. Nesta was a firm believer that her girlfriend must have been some sort of goddess to still be as thin as she was. 

Nesta let out a groan and held on tighter. “No. _Morrigan_ ,” Mor let out an involuntary shiver at her full name, the amount of love and passion Nesta somehow puts into a single word. “ _Please._ Please don’t make me move. Please just let me sit here, with you.”

“Okay,” Mor said quietly, and laid down properly, Nesta still on top of her. “We’ll stay right here.”

“Thank you,” Nesta said, and cuddles deeper into her, her muscles relaxing. Mor presses a kiss to the crown of her head, and uses an app on her phone to silently order pizza. 


	2. Nesta and Elain being sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [TWH365PromptChallenge ](http://thewritershelpers.tumblr.com/post/155228004584/twh-writing-snapshot-365-day-prompt-challenge)[1/1](http://thewritershelpers.tumblr.com/post/155246444034/prompt-challenge-day-1): write an unconventional New Year's kiss in less than 200 words.

Elain found Nesta on a balcony, staring in silence at the vibrant New Year’s celebrations happening in the streets of Velaris below. 

It had been months since their violent rebirth from humans to High Fae. Months of learning and relearning, their bodies, their magic, their new lives. Months of war and spying and subterfuge, anything to defeat the King and bring their younger sister home safe. And they had done it—all of it. And perhaps they should have been down there, celebrating, but— 

As soon as the count of the crowd reached zero, the first year of their now-immortal lives would begin. They had accepted it, each of them at their own time in their own way. But the death of this year be the true death of their past humanity. This would end any hope or chance of return.

And so as the count of those below reached a resounding  _ zero _ , as their sister and her mate kissed somewhere in that crowd, Nesta drew her other sister close and gave her a comforting kiss on the forehead. The end of one life, and the beginning of another—but at least they would do it together.  


	3. Inner Circle Plays Mario Kart (feat. Feyrhys)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by a tumblr anon: "I beat you at Mario Kart and now you're banishing me to the couch for the night?” Feysand
> 
> They're playing Mario Kart Wii (2005) in case of any confusion.

“Finally!” Feyre yelled. “Finally, I have vanquished you!”

“Vanquished?” Rhys drawled. “That’s a strong word for a game of Mario Kart, darling.”

She ignored him. “Today, after months of hard work, the trainee has surpassed the trainer. We did it, Toadette. You and I did it.” Feyre stood from the couch and kissed the TV screen. 

King Boo looked much happier than his player. He had come in third, which wasn’t _bad,_ it just wasn’t as good as Feyre. “I didn’t even beat Amren,” Rhys despaired. 

“Bowser is the king,” Amren said, picking her fingernails. “Of course he beat you.”

“Don’t feel too bad, bro,” Cassian clapped him on the shoulder. “I didn’t even get third. Donkey Kong is somewhere in that crowd right now, crying to himself.”

“Donkey Kong,” Mor scoffed from Azriel’s lap. They had sat out this round after Feyre had swore it would be the one she would beat Rhys, instead leaving it to their more competitive companions. “Leave it to you to choose the worst character you can.”

“Oh, like Toadette is any better?” He pulled Nesta back onto his lap, no longer needing the room to play.

“Toad and Toadette always win,” Feyre and Mor chanted in unison. 

“As evidenced by me,” Feyre said with a pointed grin at Rhys. 

“If you love Toadette so much, maybe you should sleep down here on the couch tonight, to be closer to her.”

“I beat you at Mario Kart and now you’re banishing me to the couch for the night?” Feyre said. “Please, you wouldn’t be able to sleep without me. You like my cuddling skills and the smell of my shampoo too much.”

“My brute is the same way,” Nesta said, half exasperated and half proud. 

Cassian quickly pulled his face away from her hair. “No I’m not!”

“Yes you are,” everyone chorused, and Amren cackled. 

“I can sleep without you,” Rhys insisted. “And you can sleep with your game.”

Feyre began to talk, but Cassian cut her off. “There’s only one way to settle this. Whichever one of you wins the next course gets to decide sleeping arrangements.”

“What’s the next course?” Feyre asked. 

Cassian gave a terrifying grin.  _“Rainbow Road.”_


	4. Feyrhys + kid fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by lynyrdwrites on tumblr: “Our kid is totally the one who wanted to build a pillow fort, not me.”

Feyre’s visit to the Court of Nightmares had been brutal. It always was, especially when she left her mate home and went by herself. But they were equals, and he had five hundred years of visits there alone for her to make up for. Besides, one of them needed to stay home with their son.

She winnowed directly into their townhouse bedroom, sending a pulse down their bond to tell Rhys she was home before taking a quick shower. She was surprised when she got out that he wasn’t waiting for her—generally she would be greeted with molten chocolate and a back rub after a day like today. So Feyre threw on a cozy sweater, leggings, and thick woolen socks before going in search of her mate and child.

The kitchen was first, and while it was empty, the mess proved Rhys and Dorian had tried baking again. She didn’t see any sort of finished product, but didn’t know if that was because it had all been eaten or if it had been thrown out like most of their other attempts. She made herself molten chocolate, and took a sip to warm her insides before continuing on.

Soft voices and a small giggle led her to the living room. Or, what had been the living room.

It was entirely covered in blankets and pillows. They must have raided the linen closet to manage to bury their furniture so completely. Even the entrance itself was blocked off by a stack of pillows.

“Rhys?” she called experimentally. “Dorian? Where are my boys?”

The voices stopped, and she saw movement underneath the blankets at the far side of the room before one of the pillows in front of her popped out of place and her son’s head poked out. “Mama! You’re home!”

“Yeah,” she said, getting down on her knees to be at level with him. “What are you doing?”

“Daddy and I built a blanket fort!” he said. “Do you want to join us?”

“Of course,” she said, and followed him through the pillows to see the inside.

They crawled together back over to Rhys, Feyre doing so one-handed in an attempt to keep her molten chocolate from spilling. When they made it, Dorian sat down and picked up an open book he had apparently been in the middle of reading. A plate of frosted cookies lay next to it, what she assumed to be the cause of the messiness in the kitchen.

She put her mug down and crawled close enough to press a gentle kiss to Rhys’ lips.

“Hello, darling,” he said. “How was your day?”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I think you can guess. The more important question is, how was yours?”

“The fort was Dorian’s idea,” he said quickly.

“Really?”

“Completely.”

She huffed a laugh, then turned in his arms so her back was against his chest, his arms comfortably banded around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. She took grabbed her molten chocolate and took another sip before asking, “you two had a kitchen adventure earlier today?”

“Yeah!” Dorian said. “We needed snacks for our fort, so we made cookies!”

She sent a teasing pulse down the bond. _Was that really the best idea?_

_I got the recipe from Elain. The instructions were too specific for even us to mess up._

She smiled, to both of them, and took a cookie from the plate. She was pleased to find that they hadn’t messed up the various white powders this time like they had in the past: sugar for salt for baking powder for baking soda for cornstarch.

_See?_ Rhys said. _Nothing to be worried about._

Feyre nestled closer to him. “What are you reading, Dorian?”

He proudly showed her the cover. Reading was as new to him at five years old as it had been to her at twenty, but he was progressing just as quickly as she had.

“Children’s tales,” Rhys murmured. “The same tales I was told by my parents when I was his age.”

“Read us one, darling,” Feyre asked her son, and he opened up to a new story, about a fae male who had to complete task after horrible task to discover the identity of his mate, and to earn her love.

_I think I know how this story ends,_ Rhys said.

_Me too. Should we tell him?_

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. _I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own soon enough._


	5. Elucien college au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by rileylefae on tumblr: we’re in a class and i sit behind and all you ever do during the lessons is watch cat videos and youtube and it’s extremely distracting-Elucian

One Monday, at 9am, Elain Archeron took her seat in the lecture hall, pulling out her notebook and wide array of colorful pens. The professor was already at the front, setting up the projector. Everything was as it should be, as it had been for the previous weeks of the semester. Actually, it was _better,_ because so far there wasn’t any–

A man with red hair took a seat in the row in front of her, and she let out a silent sigh. Since the beginning of the semester, her Plant Biology course had gone the same exact way: she arrived at roughly the same time as her professor, got prepared to take notes, then had her view partially obscured by a guy who did nothing but watch cat videos for the entire eighty minute lecture. She did her best to focus, but between his brightly colored hair and the constant movement from his laptop, she failed as often as she succeeded.

Today, she was determined to succeed. 

She watched with hyper-focus as the professor began explaining the basics of photosynthesis. She already remembered all of this from high school, and her mind began to wander, until before she knew it, ten minutes had off the lecture had passed with her watching cat videos over the guy’s shoulder. 

_No!_ she berated herself. _Photosynthesis. The Calvin Cycle._ She had already been forced to teach herself the names and responsibilities of each part of a plant because of him, and photosynthesis was much harder to understand. Summoning her courage, she reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me?” she whispered. 

He took out one earplug. “Yes?” he,  said as he turned around.

Elain’s mind blanked. He was _gorgeous;_ his red hair complimented his eyes, one a beautiful russet, the other gold and made of glass, its presence at least partially explained by a scar spanning from above his eyebrow to down his cheek. And there had been a soft accent in his voice, a gentle lilt that she couldn’t identify. Irish? English? She would have to listen to him talk more to be able to tell. Was he a foreign exchange student? Or had he moved here when he was younger?

She realized several moments too late that he was still looking at her expectantly, and she hurried to cover he mistake. “Can you please stop playing those videos? They’re really distracting.”

He smirked. “I’m pretty sure I can use my laptop however I want, but thank you for asking.” 

Something in her caught on fire. “Why would you sit in the second row of a four hundred person lecture hall just to watch cat videos? If that’s how you want to spend your class time, at least go sit in the back!” She sat back in her seat, breathing heavily from such a quiet conversation. Her sister’s lessons about standing up for herself must have been getting to her. 

He blinked, cockiness gone. “I’m–sorry,” he said. _English,_ she decided, then second guessed herself a moment later. He clicked out of the web browser and opened a word document, focusing on the professor for the rest of the lecture. 

But for Elain, it was too late. Even if the cat videos were gone, she didn’t know how to focus knowing there was a male model sitting in front of her. A male model that she had just yelled at… insulted… ruined any chance with… 

_Oh, hell._   


	6. Feyrhys Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by anon on [tumblr](http://cass-ian.tumblr.com): "This is probably a bad time, but marry me?"

The plans were all set. Saturday night, after dinner and dancing and a performance of their favorite symphony at the philharmonic, Rhys was going to take his girlfriend of two years out to the bridge where they had first bumped into each other, and propose. And under the light of the moon, she would say yes, and the stars would bear witness to one of his dreams finally being answered. 

Feyre knew they were going out, and had been excited all week. Not as much as he was, perhaps, and not for the same reason. She didn’t spare much thought to their weekend plans when he fell sick with a cold on Wednesday. It was winter after all, and something as minor as a cold had never stopped Rhys from doing anything in the past. 

Then Saturday morning, they had awoken to find their town covered in two feet of snow. The plows were already going, but the snow was still falling, and when they turned on the news, the meteorologist joked that “today was a day for hot cocoa and a book.”

Rhys didn’t want hot cocoa and a book. He wanted a ring and a proposal.

Their favorite dance hall was closed, but their dinner reservations were still set and the philharmonic still playing. So a few hours later, they climbed into the sedan in winter coats and made their way downtown.

Dinner went wonderfully, and Rhys was relieved at least part of his plan had worked out. Feyre was flushed and happy, and she didn’t seem to notice his hand drifting to his coat pocket every few minutes, fingering the velvet box inside. They held hands throughout the show, the soft, haunting symphony of the orchestra winding through them. Feyre had leaned her head on Rhys’ shoulder, and he could almost feel her emotions, her deep contentment and—love. He could feel her love in the way she squeezed his hand, the deep even breaths she took, how she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye every few minutes. He had to keep himself from taking out the ring and proposing right there. 

But he had made it through, lost in her and the music in equal parts. And when the orchestra took their final bows, she was still so caught in the peace of the concert hall that she didn’t look at him strangely when he suggested a walk in the snow. 

One unfortunate fall later, and they were in the hospital. Feyre had slipped and fallen on the iced-over bridge and had broken her leg. She was laying in a hospital bed with nurses prepping her for surgery. Rhys watched from inside the room but outside the circle. Finally all the nurses but one left, and Rhys stepped closer as the nurse stepped back, presumably to give them some privacy. Feyre reached for his hand, and he walked close enough for her to take it. 

“I guess this is what I get for taking a walk on iced-over roads,” she joked. 

“Feyre-I-”

“I hope you’re not going to try to say this was your fault or something, because I think the fault can be split fairly evenly between us.”

He tried to laugh, but tears fell instead. He had just wanted to give her the most romantic night of her life, and instead it had ended in a surgery.

“Rhys, it’s fine,” she soothed him.  _ She  _ soothed  _ him.  _ “I barely feel it, I promise.”

“No, Feyre, I-”

The nurse turned back to them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s time for you to leave, sir. The surgery is about to begin.”

“Wait!” he said, and dropped to one knee, pulling out the box. “I know this is a bad time, but Feyre Archeron, will you marry me?”

“Rhys-!” she gasped. “Of course! Yes, yes of course!”

He stood and slid the ring onto her finger, careful not to jostle her leg as he leaned in for a kiss.

“I should have gone with my original plan,” he said, only half-jokingly. At Feyre’s questioning look, he explained, “During the symphony, right at the climax, the conductor was going to draw the one note out, a spotlight was going to illuminate us, and I was going to propose, right there. The orchestra and the conductor were both on board with it, but then a couple of weeks ago, I realized you wouldn’t want a proposal like that. You’d want it to be private.  _ Special.  _ For just the two of us.” He gestured to the hospital room. “I guess that didn’t work out on either account, though.”

She reached up for another kiss. “It’s  _ perfect,  _ Rhys. It was everything I could have asked for,” and he basked in the glow of her words. 

The nurse cleared her throat. “We really do need you to leave, sir.”

“Right,” Rhys said, pulling away from his fiancee.  _ His fiancee.  _ He waved a goodbye, and Feyre went off to surgery with a smile. 


	7. Moriel: getting out of a ticket AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by emojinal-gemini on tumblr: getting out of a ticket AU moriel
> 
> This is my first attempt at moriel, so don't hesitate to give me criticism!

Azriel hated patrolling. He had solved murders, made drug busts. He could be doing something more useful to his county than catching people for speeding. 

But everyone had to pull a shift, and now he had to pull double, thanks to losing that stupid bet to Cassian. So here he was. 

He strolled from his patrol car to the fifth car he’d caught in two hours. 

She rolled down her window, pushing her sunglasses into her wavy blonde hair to reveal stunning caramel eyes. The back of his mind noticed her companion in the passenger seat, but he was too preoccupied to focus on them. “How can I help you, Officer?”

_ Go on a date with me.  _ She was gorgeous, and slightly familiar in a way that had him wondering if she was a model. “You were going seventy-five in a fifty-five zone.”

“Az?” a familiar voice said. 

For the first time, he focused on the woman’s companion. “Rhys?”

“Hey. This is my cousin Morrigan.”

“Mor,” she corrected.

“Mor, this is my friend Azriel.” Rhys said.

The three of them had become acquaintances by chance, but had become friends over their shared dream: to help as many people as possible, to make the world the best it could be. Both Azriel and Cassian had decided the best way to do that was by joining the police force, while Rhys was dedicated to creating better, more advanced technology to serve a variety of purposes and people. 

“She’s staying with me for the summer,” Rhys explained. “She wanted to get familiar with the roads around here, so I let her drive. She must have missed the speed limit sign back there. If you want, I can drive us the rest of the way?”

No wonder she looked familiar; she was his best friend’s cousin. They hadn’t met, as he was sure he would have remembered, but he could have seen her picture in Rhys’ house or on his social media.

“That won’t be necessary,” Azriel said. “Just keep an eye on the speed limits, Mor.”

“Yep!” Mor said. With a goodbye and a promise to Rhys to meet up soon, he walked back to his car, perhaps slower than he needed to. He was only a few paces away when he heard Mor say loudly, “I want to bang your friend. Do you think he’d be more or less interested in me if he finds out I work with the police in California?”

Rhys’ answering groan was the last thing Azriel heard before driving away. 


	8. Feyrhys: teacher/student AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by feysand17 on tumblr: teacher/student au Feysand

Feyre strolled around her students’ easels, watching as they attempted to paint the still-life she had set up. When a painting caught her eye, she would stop and talk to that painter, trying to remember the names and faces from roll call by asking their stories. 

This was Feyre’s first adult class since she began working at the community center two years ago, and she was excited. 

She enjoyed working with kids, as she normally did, from Mommy and Me classes all the way up to high schoolers. But adult classes allowed her to find others with the same lifelong passion for painting, others with which to discuss art, to become friends with, even to learn from. Feyre had already found an elderly woman who had been a professional artist when she was younger, drawn over to her easel by her perfect use of color. She had lost interest in painting when the world lost interest in her, and was now relearning it as a hobby. Feyre had moved on glad that her class was helping someone rediscover their love of art. 

The next easel she stopped at was for a different reason altogether.

The assignment was simple: a red apple on a wooden table. It was meant to assess their skill level, so Feyre could better tailor future lessons to fit her students’ needs. But looking at the painting before her, it didn’t seem like this student had any skill at all. The apple was a red circle, the table a brown rectangle. The brush strokes were sloppy and dry. It looked like something an untalented preschooler would paint. 

“Admiring my work?” The man sitting at the easel drawled, and as he turned around to look at her, she almost cursed. 

It was Rhysand— _ Rhys,  _ he’d corrected her at roll call, with a smirk like his name was an inside joke between them. Rhysand, who was one of two students close to her in age when the rest were past retirement. Rhysand, who, despite looking like he belonged in a Renaissance-era portrait, couldn’t paint. 

“It’s an interesting interpretation,” she said.

“It know it’s not the best,” he said, and Feyre had to keep her face neutral. She hadn’t thought his obvious arrogance would allow him to admit he was anything less than perfect. “But I was distracted by the far more beautiful subject in the room.”  

_ Act professional,  _ she reminded herself, but her mouth apparently wasn’t taking orders from her mind anymore. “You mean yourself?”

He laughed. “No, though I’m flattered you think so.” She tried to stop her blush as he continued, “I meant you.”


	9. Feyrhys discussing baby names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by fangirlreadingmachine on tumblr.

Rhys had been dreaming of this conversation for a long time. Silently, perhaps, so as not to pressure his mate, but dreaming all the same. 

Four months ago, Feyre had found out she was pregnant. Three months ago, in the midst of a messy internal debate over whether or not to terminate, she had told him. And just a few hours ago, stuffed with food from their favorite restaurant, they had told their family. 

Now, they were curled together in their bed, full and sleepy and content. Rhys had his wing curled overhead to filter the light so he could just see Feyre’s soft smile. 

“What should we name them?” Rhys asked quietly, as if saying it too loudly would scare the truth away. 

“I figured you already had some ideas,” she said teasingly. “You’ve had five hundred years longer to think of baby names than I have.”

“I do, but I thought I should ask the mother first,” he said. “You’re carrying them; you get first say.”

She shook her head. “No. I want to know what you have in mind.”

“Vala,” he said decisively. “Or Aderyn.” At her raised eyebrow— _ why those?-- _ he explained, “They’re my mother’s and sister’s names, respectively. I always thought-” he cleared his throat “I always thought that if I ever had a child, I would honor them.”

She kissed his cheek to stop the tears before they could fall. “What about for a boy?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t think past honoring my mother and Aderyn. I know my parents considered naming me Dorian, but it was Illyrian instead of High Fae, so they went with Rhysand instead. Still, it seems as good a name as any.”

“You’ve had lifetimes to think of names, and you could only come up with three?” she said, only half-teasing.  __

He tapped her nose, watching with satisfaction as it scrunched up adorably. “Well, then, tell me what you have come up with.”

“For a girl, Rhiannon, Eirianwen, and then either Sera or Seren. For a boy, Kieran, Madoc, or Bryce.”

“That’s a lot of names,” he said. “You  _ are  _ aware we’re only having one child, right darling?”

“We could have twins,” she countered. “Or triplets. Or quadruplets.”

“Well, if we found out we’re having decuplets-” she laughed “-and you need an extra name, we can always use Eleana.”

“ _ Eleana?”  _ Feyre said. “That is the ugliest name I have ever heard. I’m not naming my child that.”

“Like Eirianwen is any better? The poor child will hate us.”

“She can go by Eiri for short,” Feyre countered.

Rhys laughed. “You’ve thought about this. Where did you find all those names?”

She blushed. “Some I just saw or heard around Velaris, and I like them, like Bryce. But I also checked the official records of the Court, those which list every birth and death, those that list old names and their stories. I found some options there as well. I wanted for our child to have a proper Night Court name, like you do, steeped in history. A history for them to remake as they see fit.”

His breath caught, and this time, the tears fell before his mate could stop them. 

“Rhys?” she asked worriedly. “Why are you crying?”

He choked out something between a laugh and a sob. “We’re going to have a child, Feyre. My mate is giving me a child to love and teach and care for. And I-I ever thought that I would find this. Find my mate, find someone who was willing to be with me despite the danger, find a family like I haven’t had since my mother and sister died. And you— _ Mother,  _ Feyre,  _ you’re giving that to me,  _ and-”

She wrapped her arms around him and he buried his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder, still crying. She rubbed circled on his back in comfort as she said, “Yes, Rhys, we will have a family, and we will have a child. My only regret is I didn’t find you sooner, couldn’t give you a family sooner.”

_ “No,”  _ he said vehemently, rising to look at her through his tears. “Never say that. I would have waited another thousand years to find you, to find  _ this,  _ and I wouldn’t regret that time, as long as it brought me to you.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, the action communicating what words could not. And so they laid together, in the faint starlight shining through the window, entangled in each other and protecting the new life still growing within.  


	10. Cazriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place post-ACOMAF/pre-ACOWAR, after Hybern.

Cassian wakes slowly, wrapped in softness but with a dull ache in his back— _ in his wings- _

Strong, gentle hands press against his shoulders, forcing him back against the linens. He would fight against it, but he knows this touch, just as he knows those hazel eyes, that beautiful face about him. 

“Azriel,” he says, voice weak. “You’re okay.”

Azriel nods, allowing himself the smallest of smiles. Happiness is always an allowance for him, a privilege he rarely indulges. It’s been five hundred years, and Cassian still hasn’t convinced him that his happiness should be celebrated, that he should give smiles like sundrops and laugh like rain, if that is how he feels. 

“You’re healed?” Cassian asks. “Completely?”

Cassian is laying against the pillows now, but Azriel’s hands have not moved from his shoulders. One of his thumbs reaches up, brushes a caress against Cassian’s jaw. “Completely.”

They are silent for a moment, Cassian reorienting himself, Azriel pulling back to watch as he does. They are in Cassian’s room, gauzy inner curtains thrown over the windows to allow in a breeze and just enough light to see by. Azriel is sitting beside him on the hard wooden chair he normally uses to lace up his boots in the morning. His typical burgundy sheets are replaced by white, Cassian notices, and stupidly hopes they weren’t ruined with his blood—they had been his favorite set. Finally, painfully, he turns his head enough to see his wings: bound to the headboard, and wrapped entirely in white bandages and gauze. The only part of them he can see are the talons. 

“How long was I out?” Cassian asks, voice cracking from the dryness in his throat. 

Azriel pours a glass of water from a pitcher resting on the bedside table. “About two weeks.” At Cassian’s shocked expression, he explains, “The healers wanted to keep you out long enough for your wings to stabilize. The less movement, the better. They only stopped giving you the sleeping draught last night.”

Azriel puts a hand under Cassian’s back, supporting him enough for Cassian to take a few sips of the water. Half of it spills down his front, but neither of them mention it. 

Still sitting up, Cassian asks “Will they... will my wings...”

Azriel doesn’t look at him as he says, “The healers say they will heal. You’ll have to work back up to your previous strength, but you should be able to fly again.” His voice deepens, takes on that intensity Cassian recognizes as a promise. “You  _ will  _ fly again.”

It is silent for a moment. When Azriel speaks, it is quiet, but all the intensity is gone, and only sadness remains. “You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

Cassian wants to explain himself, wants to take Azriel’s self-hatred and throw it into the sea. Bracing one hand on the mattress, he lifts the other and cups Azriel’s cheek. Softly, he says, “you have to know it was all for you.”

Azriel shakes his head slowly in disbelief, but doesn’t pull away from his touch. 

“Azriel.” Cassian waits until he meets his eyes. Slowly, without looking away, he says, “it was all for  _ you.” _

They had been something, once. They had always said it was only physical. But when they were finally close enough to say the words, Mor had walked in, and everything they could have been had fallen away.

But here, now, Cassian tilts his face up and lets his eyes slide closed. Azriel leans over, and their lips brush. 

Somewhere in the house waits the girl that Azriel has loved since first sight. Something in Cassian’s chest still tugs him towards the newly Made Fae. But for now, in the half-light of the sun through the window, Azriel and Cassian kiss, and that is enough. 


End file.
